Skyrim Short Stories
by Solona Amell
Summary: Short Stories of the characters of Skyrim. T for violence.
1. Friends (Hadvar and Ralof)

"No fair! I tripped!"

Hadvar scowled as Ralof keeled from laughing. He grinned and circled Hadvar on the ground, still chuckling.

"Your it! I win fair and square!"

"That's not how tag works!"

"Yes it is!"

They glared at each other for what seemed like minutes. Finally, both of them cracked up laughing. Ralof gave his hand to Hadvar to pull him to his feet. They were still laughing when they heard a voice in the distance.

"Ralof! Come on, you promised to hekp me with the chores!"

"Comming Gerdur!" Ralof started running towards thier mill but stopped. He turned back to Hadvar to smile and wave.

"See you around, friend!"

Hadvar, shocked, waved back tentatively. And just like that, Ralof was gone. He smiled to himself as he walked home, hoping to play with his friend again soon.

~4 Years Later~

Ralof sighed as he chopped another log of wood. The sun was begining to set and he still had a whole tree to finish cutting down. He wiped his forehead and glanced at Hadvar's house. They were all inside, enjoying a family dinner. Ralof felt a pang of jealousy as he continued to slave away over the wood. It was always like this, Ralof would work all day while Hadvar did what he pleased. He never had to work like Ralof did. His uncle provided food for him. Ralof had to scavenge for plants and hunt game for he and his sister. Hadvar didn't understand what it felt like to struggle. He didnt understand anything.

Ralof let out a cry of rage and threw the axe straight into the newly cut wood. He stormed off to the river, kicking rocks as he went. He cut this wood every day so that people like Hadvar could eat a hot dinner, and yet, he got no respect from him. Sometimes he wondered why he even concidered him to be a friend.

Ralof's thoughts were interupted by someone clearing their throats. He turned to see Hadvar smiling at him, and in his hands, was a plate covered in food.

"Oh... Is that for me?"

He took the plate, feeling guilty. He sat in the dirt as Hadvar retrieved the axe began cutting the rest of the wood.

"Hadvar, I'm sorry for being so cold. I'm just stressed out. Please forgive me."

Hadvar grinned and set the axe down. "Of course. That's what friends do."

~4 Years Later~

"You traitor! You could you turn your back on us?"

Ralof spat the words as Hadvar rolled his eyes, his new Imperial Legion armor shinning in the sun.

"I didn't betray anyone! The Legion is the only option for peace. Ulfric Stormcloak will only lead Skyrim to war!"

They shouted back and forth at each other, cursing. Hadvar was enraged by Ralof's attitude. To think thay he would actually side with the rebels.

"You'll regret this, after General Tullius ends this war!"

"Oh, to hell with you!"

Ralof raised his fist to strike Hadvar. Instead of backing off, Hadvar readied his sword. Gerdur stopped him just in time.

"Enough! This is ridiculous!"

She jumped between the two men, catching Ralof's hand. She tugged at him to go back inside. After one more glare, he followed her inside. He turned to Hadvar just before he shut the door.

"See you on the battlefield, 'Friend'"

Seconds later, he was gone, leaving Hadvar alone.

~Current Day~

The dragon roared overhead, burning Helgen to the ground. Hadvar dodged a collapsing beam, narrowly avoiding a gust of fire from the Dragon.

"This way, prisoner!"

The woman behind him followed, avoiding the debris with much more grace than him. To think that this started out as a typical execution. And now there was a dragon on the loose, destorying Helgen. Hadvar felt bad for the prisoner, to be executed without reason. He figured that the least he could do was lead her to safety.

As he rounded the corner, the prisoner on his heels, he ran straight into a Stormcloak soldier.

Ralof.

"It's you and me, prisoner. Stay close! Ralof! You damned traitor. Out of my way!"

Ralof met his eyes, glared, and turned towards the woman.

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time." He hissed. "You! Come on, into the keep!"

She hesitated, taking in her options. Hadvar wasn't surprised when she ran towards Ralof. She was just nearly killed by the Imperial Legion. Of course she didn't trust him, but it was still rough.

"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."

And just like that, the prisoner was gone. Ralof turned back to Hadvar, a grim expression across his face.

"Goodbye... Friend."


	2. Helgi

"Higher! Higher!"

"My arms can only stretch so far, Helgi."

"Aww, please? Please! Please! Please!"

Hroggar sighed and lifted Helgi up in the air, spinning her in circles. She giggled and squealed, her hair whipping in the wind. She pouted as Hroggar put her back on the ground and glared as Hroggar laughed when she stuck out her bottom lip.

"Hmph."

Her attitude only made her father laugh louder. "Im sorry, Helgi." He chuckled. "But I can't swing you around all day."

"Hmph"

"Please don't be mad, dear."

She didn't answer. Instead, she crossed her arms and fumed. Eventually, Hroggar came up with an idea to lighten her mood.

"I know what'll make you happy. How about we go and play hide and seek?"

Helgi's anger subsided and she cheered. She always had fun with her father when playing hide and seek. Hroggar took her hand and led her through Morthal, to their house. Helgi pushed past her father and through the door, yelling.

"Your it! No peaking!"

Hroggar shook his had and smiled, covering his eyes. She searched the house for a place to hide but found nothing worthwhile. Helgi could hear her father couning even higher. In a state of panic, she ran outside and up the hill, eventually stopping to hide behind a few trees. Her father would never find her up here.

But as time went by, a cloud of paranoia and unease surrounded her. A rustle of leaves turned her attention to what was behind her. Helgi saw nothing, but still felt as if eyes were in her.

Her terror finally took control and she ran back down the hill to her father, who was oblivious to her state of fear.

"Ah, there you are! I thought I'd never find you." He smiled encouragingly, but it didn't make Helgi feel any better.

"I don't wanna play anymore... Can we just go home?"

Hroggar looked confused but didn't question her why. Instead, he tookher hand again and walked back home. Helgi looked over her shoulder the entire way, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Eventually, Hroggar sent her to bed, but she couldnt sleep. She tossed and turned, the moment of fear from earlier still fresh in her mind. She thought of her father and all the fun they had. How he was always there for her, even in the worst of times.

Helgi didn't remember falling asleep that night. The only memory she had was the smell of smoke in the air, the sound of fire crackling, and a woman leaning over her bed, fangs slick with blood.


	3. Mother (Serana)

"Wrong. Again."

Serana raised her hands, willing the magic to come forth. It took all of her effort to form the sparks that twirled from her fingers. Seconds later, they disinigrated, leaving Serana alone with the wrath of her mother.

"Wrong." She sighed, annoyed by her daughter. "How many times will it take for you to learn?"

Serana hung her head, trying hard not to meet her mother's eyes. Tears sprang in her eyes but she forced them back. Her mother always told her that crying solved nothing. They had snuck off to the garden so that Valerica could teach her daughter the essence of magic, but Serana couldn't seem to succeed. Her unbeating heart seemed to suffocate each time she failed. But her mother's disappointment was far more excruciating.

"I'll get it right, I promise." Serana said.

Her mother let out a bark of laughter. "Promises mean nothing if you can't fulfil them."

She tried to speak, but her lips wouldn't form the words. Instead, she looked away. Her mother simply shook her head.

"You know what your father plans to do?"

Serana nodded.

"How he will try and use you for his own desire?"

She nodded again.

"And unless you want to become a tool for him, I suggest that you continue training."

And just like that, her mother was gone, her cloak dancing in the wind as she glided out the door. Serana watched her leave, finally letting herself have a moment of weakness. Her mother was so ashamed of her, it hurt her to watch. She fell to the floor, gasping for air. No matter how hard she tried, she wasn't good enough. Why couldn't she make her proud? Why couldn't she, just for once, do something right?

She didn't want to disappoint her mother anymore.

Serana took a deep breath and stood. As her mother had said, crying solved nothing. As she calmed herself, she lifted her hands again, feeling power surge through her. Seconds later, the sparks were back, both stronger and brighter. And soon, those sparks turned to bolts of lightening. Serana felt a wave of triumph as the magic ran through her body.

She panicked and dropped her hands when she heard a gasp. Valerica stood at the door, obviously surprised. Her look of shock quickly turned to a smile.

"Well done, my dear. I'm so proud of you."

Serana, feeling herself soar, ran into her mothers open arms. She had never felt happier.

Present Day

Serana walked away from her mother, remembering the memory from so many years ago. She was so young, so naive. How she used to feel with her mother beside her. How she always tried to live up to her standards. Serana always thought she and her mother shared a bond. That nothing could tear them apart. But now that she finally found her, She realized how foolish she had been. She had been blinded by her desire to be loved, to have a true family. But the truth was right in front of her the entire time. Her mother was no different from her father, only trying to use her.

And as she ventured out of Soul Cairn, back into the world of the living, Serana finally gave in. She returned to the garden, collapsed to the floor, and finally let herself cry.


	4. Sapphire

"No! Don't hurt her!"

Her mother screamed as the bandits dragged her child away. She fought with everything she had, digging her feet into the ground, but they were far too strong. They had slammed her father into the wall of their home, choking him. Tears streamed down her face while the bandits beat him to death. The girl and her mother coward in the corner and whimpered. When the life faded from her husbands eyes, the mother grabbed her daughter to run. The bandits simply laughed at their pathetic attempt. While one pushed the mother to the ground, the other grabbed the girl by her wrist. She cried out when they began to drag her out the door.

Her mother stared wide eyed as one of the men walked towards her. She scrambled backwards, falling to her feet. As the tip of the man's sword nicked her neck, she gazed at her daughter who was still being carried away. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes glassy.

"I love you..."

As the girl opened her mouth to respond, her mother screamed. A sword, slick with blood, pierced her chest. Her daughter's screams became even more desperate, as she called out her mother's name. The bandits tied a cloth to her head and gagged her, silencing the girl. And as she struggled against them, she pleaded for death. Because she knew that death would be a bigger mercy than what they had in store for her.

~Years Later~

"Hey! I need a refill over here!"

The girl sighed, put on a fake smile, and walked over to the group of bandits. They all sat in a circle, drinking and boasting about their skills. As she filled the man's cup, he grinned darkly.

"Thanks for the help sweetheart. Maybe you can help me in my tent later..."

His narrow eyes scanned her up and down. She shivered. The other men began to laugh obnoxiously.

"Ha! No one would want to spend a night with you! Your about as charming as a Skeever!'

They snorted and laughed at the man, who scolded angrily. As soon as they started swinging punches, the girl snuck away. The torches that lit up the camp casted strange and eerie shadows, but they didn't scare her anymore. She wasn't afraid if anything. Her fear had diminished over time, leaving numbness in it's place. As she walked, a man whistled. She, like always, ignored it. They had been treating her like a slave for so long, it seemed normal to her

When they first dragged her into the camp, she was still crying and kicking, trying her best to get free. When they finally let go of her wrists, a pair of shackles were put on them. They left her tied to a tree for atleast a week, as she yelled in frustration. They finally let her loose after the anger had seeped out of her body. Until she stopped crying and kicking. Until she felt nothing but emptiness.

She stopped making things difficult. Instead, she gave in to the abuse. She stopped trying to fight the bandits who had slaughtered her family. Instead, she listened and obeyed to their every order. She even stopped trying to escape her captives. Instead, she gave up both her past and her future.

The girl made her way across the campground, avoiding as many people as possible. With one last glance at the bandits, she slipped into an empty tent. The voices outside seemed to quiet as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. When she could finally make out the shapes around me, she leaned down by an unmade bed roll. Behind the bed, laid a small dagger. It shined in the little moon light that seeped through the tent. As she lifted the blade, she could hear the men rising from the table. They obviously had too much to drink, singing a folk song that sounded like a drunken version of "Rognar The Red".

She slipped back out of the tent and hid behind it, The dagger slid easily into her pocket, solid and cold. As the voices grew louder, she watched for the silhouette of the bandits. As they finished their song and stumbled into their tents, the girl made her way back to their circle. She grabbed the empty cups and gathered the remaining scraps of food. At the same time, she strained her ears to listen to the snores of her captives. By the time she was finished cleaning, each of the men were sound asleep.

She pulled the dagger back out, gripping it tightly. The thoughts that clouded her mind each night would finally be over. She would never have to go through the torture and abuse anymore. The nightmares of her parent's death would finally end. For once in her life, she felt something more than emptiness.

With that in mind, she snuck into each tent with the dagger poised and ready. This was it. Her chance at freedom. Her chance at happiness.

Her chance at revenge.

And one by one, she slit the throats of each and every bandit.

They never saw it coming. She was so weak, so submissive. They never thought that she would be their downfall. But it was too late for them. The girl had outsmarted them all, and got what she used to wish for every night.

Blood stained the girl's torn clothes, but she didn't seem to care. She dropped the dagger on the body of the last bandit she killed, then headed towards the river. As she washed the evidence away, she caught a glance of an image in the water. It was a girl. A girl with dirty brown hair and blood soaked clothes. But even though she looked like a disaster, she was smiling.

As the sun began to rise, she grabbed what little supplies was left in the camp and ran, no destination in mind. She didn't care where she ended up, she just wanted to be gone.

Eventually she found herself at the gates of a city. After a brief hesitation, she pushed through the doors. The city decent size, filled with buildings of all sorts, along with trading stalls. The stall that caught her eye first was full of jewels of all sorts. One particular one fascinated her. It was a jewel of a blue color, sparkling beautifully in the sunlight.

The girl reached out to touch it, when suddenly, the hand of a guard was on her shoulder.

"Your not from around here," his eyes narrowed under his helmet. "Just who are you?"

The girl froze. Her name was not something she used anymore, and it wasn't something that she wanted to give to a complete stranger. Her gaze drifted back to the blue gem that gleaned out of the corner of her eye.

"Sapphire." She said. "My name is Sapphire."


	5. Babette

Babette didn't see it coming. It never crossed her mind that one day, she would wake up to feel her heart stop beating. It terrified her, and she screamed when she couldn't feel her pulse. Her parent's noticed nothing. No change in her apperance, no change in her behavior, no changes at all. She went completely unnoticed be others, but Babette knew something was wrong. And on that night, as she claimed her first victim, she realized what she had become.

That she was now one of the night children.

The changes were subtle, noticeable only to her. The first affect was her body. She felt as if blood had ran cold, as if ice had formed in he veins. It made her feel lifeless. Then, she felt strength. Even though she felt frozen, Babette could feel herself becoming more powerful. But she shrugged it off, thinking nothing of her physical stature.

The next affect was a bit more... noticeable. As she made her way outside for an evening stroll, Babette began to feel ill. It wasnt the type of ill feeling that you felt when you had a fever. It felt as if she had caught fire, as if she was thrown into a fire. The sunlight made her blood feel as if it was boiling. Babette could swear she felt herself cooking from the heat.

But Babette was a carefree child and wasn't concerned with her issues. But once the third affect took ahold of her, she couldn't ignore it.

Babette was very close with her family. She loved her parents with all her heart, and she always cherished her little sister. But one night, as she sang her sister to sleep, she felt a desire. A desire that she could only quench with blood. And as her little sister slept soundly in her bed, Babette couldn't hold in her need.

She leaned over and gently placed a kiss on her sisters neck, feeling her pulse beat gently.

Babette didn't remember the events that followed the kiss. She didnt recall biting into the girl's neck, or her parents comming into her room screaming as blood dripped onto the floor.

She gasped when her sister's cry reached her ears. Her mother shrieked, looking mortified as Babette covered her blood streaked lips. Her father held a sword to her throat and cursed. Babette didnt know how to react, feeling confused and ashamed, tears running down her face. They stared with wide eyes and shaky hands. She tried to speak to defend herself but the words were lodged in her throat. Her parents didn't waver, too terrified to move.

Babette was a monster, an abomination that needed to be hanged for her crimes. Even her family was terrified of her. She couldnt seem to breathe as she watched her life fade away. She couldnt stay at the place she once called home. She was a Vampire, not a little girl with her family. And she had claimed her own sister as her first victim.

With one last forlorn glance at her parents, she ran out the door and into the night.

~ 300 Years Later~

"Ha ha ha ha! Again! Again! Do the part where he tries to buy you some candy."

"Okay, okay. Wait. Here we go. 'Ooh, you are such a pretty little girl. Would the sweetie like a sweetie? Oh yes, how about some chocolate? Oh yes, please, kind sir. My mama and papa left me all alone, and I'm so very hungry. I know a shortcut to the candy shop. Through this alley. Oh ya, very good. Very good. My it is dark down here. Oh, but you are so beautiful. Such a lovely smile. Your teeth... your teeth! No! Aggghh!'"

Her family laughed as she reanimated her kill. Gabriella smiled and shook her head. "Oh Babette, you are so wicked."

Nazir chuckled, then turned to Festus. "What about you, Festus? How did that last contract turn out?"

Arnbjorn snorted. "Oh, yes, please, old man. Regale us with your tales of wizardry..."

"Ah, the young and stupid. Always mocking the experienced and brilliant. My contract went very well, I'll have you know."

He continued to tell his story while the family listened. Babette smiled to herself. So much time had passed, It felt like a dream. She remembered how it all started so long ago. When she had killed her own sister and her parents had threatened her life. When she ran from her past family and herself, never returning.

Astrid and the rest of the Dark Brotherhood took her in when the rest of the world treated her like a monster. Babette was lost in her life, but they gave her reason. And as the years went by, she became close to each and every one of them.

But they wernt just her colleagues, they were family. And the Sanctuary was her home. And Babette could ask for nothing more. When her own flesh and blood turned her away, the Dark Brotherhood welcomed her with open arms. She couldn't be happier with anyone else in all of Skyrim.

"Hey, Babette." Arnbjorn interupted. "You comming to see the new initiate?"

She snapped out of her reverie. "Hmm? Oh, of course."

And with a small smile on her lips, she hurried to catch up with her colleagues, her friends, and her new family.


	6. Dragonborn

I leave you with what is known as "The Prophecy of the Dragonborn". It often said to originate in an Elder Scroll, although it is sometimes also attributed to the ancient Akaviri. Many have attempted to decipher it, and many have also believed that its omens had been fulfilled and that the advent of the "Last Dragonborn" was at hand. I make no claims as an interpreter of prophecy, but it does suggest that the true significance of Akatosh's gift to mortalkind has yet to be fully understood.

When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world

When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped

When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles

When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls

When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding

The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.

~ The Book of the Dragonborn

The roar of the dragon overhead drowned out the screams of Irileth's men. She watched as they fell, giving a small prayer to the ones who wouldn't come home. Fire and smoke turned turned the air foul, leaving streaks of black across her face. Her sword arm was begining to slow as the dragon circled overhead. She peered across the tower at the girl from Helgen. She didn't seem to be having much luck either. The Dragon was tearing the tower apart. Survival was slim at this point.

"We can't hold out much longer!" The girl's voice echoed in what was left of the tower.

Irileth's response didn't come, the dragon had knocked her to her feet. As he spit more fire, she swore that she could hear words in between his roar. Irileth steadied herself and searched the skies for the giant beast. She finally spotted him, comming around for another burst. She tucked in her knees and rolled away from the flames as they shot past her.

More of the soldiers screamed, the smell of burnt corpses in the air. It shook Irileth more than she liked to admit. She had fought many battles, but they were always against people. Not monsters from legends.

Remembering the girl, Irileth scanned the battlefield for a sign that she was still living. Eventually, she spotted her on the ground, just as the dragon landed before her.

Cursing, Irileth sprinted down the crumbling stairs of the tower, dodging falling stone debris. The cries of the guardsman could be heard from miles away. She feared that the dragon would kill them all if she didn't aid them.

As she finally hit the last step of the tower, she readied her weapon. But before she could even strike, the dragon reared its head, shaking the ground as it fell. The girl from Helgen stood behind it, her blade falling from her hands.

The sounds of battle turned to silence. Each and every soldier on the field turned to the lifeless body. The flesh of the dragon seemed to glow, then move. As if an invisible force was controlling it. The light glided through the air, twisting. It was both elaborate and beautiful. The wisps abrupty turned towards the girl. She gasped as the light practically faded into her. As if she was absorbing the power of the dragon, leaving only a skeleton behind.

The guards, including Irileth, stared at the girl. Pure shock running through their blood. No one dared to move, as of it would disturb the moment. Some soldier gawked in amazement, others narrowed thier eyes in suspicion. But each and every one of them was quiet. They were indisputably thinking the same thing. How what they saw in front of them was impossible.

Irileth never believed in fairy tales. Never chased after legends. But what she saw in front of her couldn't be ignored. And as she stared into the eyes of the girl, the girl who had absorbed the soul of a dragon, only one word could come to mind.

Dragonborn.


	7. Monsters (Serana and MDragonborn)

"Your wounds must be bad. Maybe we should stop for awhile."

Serana glanced sideways at her companion as they trudged through the snow. He stood almost a head taller than her, with dark brown hair and matching eyes, and skin turned pale from the cold of Skyrim. His armor was mainly Ebony, with a few extra straps and things to keep his gear secured. She couldn't see how deep the cut was underneath his chest plate, but she could smell the blood. To her, blood was... inviting, but for some reason, the thought of HIM bleeding made Serana feel sick. He merely smiled, unfazed by his bad health. He never was, as far as she could tell. It was almost as if he were invincible; A statement that was obviously untrue. Even the Dragonborn can die.

But even so, the man paid no attention to her concern. He smiled again as if to say "don't worry" and continued on, keeping a steady pace as the wind and snow whipped viciously at their faces. With a quiet sigh, Serana followed.

She sped up just enough stand beside him. "How much farther to Winterhold?"

"It's not too far, no reason to stop now." he replied, pushing his hair from his face. "We should stay at the inn for the rest of the day. At dawn, we can go up to the College and get the other Elder Scroll."

Serana groaned internally. _Of course we can_. They always did their work at dawn. It was just after the bandits were off the roads and just before the people woke up. But with dawn, comes the sun, and Vampires didn't get along well with sunlight. It made her feel weak, and the heat was almost unbearable. But even so, they continued this routine every day. It was one of the disadvantages of traveling with a human.

 _No_ , she thought. He wasn't any ordinary human. Even the most oblivious of men could see that. He had a fire inside him... a fury. And everyone around him was pulled into it, like moths to a torch. This man was no mere human, but a _Legend_.

Even despite his dragon blood, he was impressive on his own. And Serana owed her life to him. Without him, she would have never been free. Free from the slumber in which she had never remembered entering. Until she awoke from her crypt, she was oblivious to the peril she was in. He could have done anything. He could have killed her, he _should_ have killed her. But instead, he turned his back on the Dawnguard completely, and offered his hand instead. To a _vampire_. It was something Serana couldn't seem to forget, even if she didn't quite understand why.

So even with the long journeys across the land, and the harsh, overbearing sun, she continued to stay by his side. Perhaps it was her way of showing gratitude, or a way of paying him back for all he had done.

But something inside her said otherwise. She didn't just stay out of appreciation. There was more to it than that. She was curious about him. What made him into the man he was.

"There it is. Winterhold."

Serana shook away her thoughts, gazing ahead at their destination. One look was all it took for her to become completely astounded. Her eyes drifted towards the small, pitiful village before her. More than half of the homes had burned years before, and were left as abandoned piles of wood and charcoal. The few buildings that still stood were quiet and sorrowful, unwelcoming in every way. The only thing remotely noticeable was the massive structure that stood behind it, the only building that seemed to be in decent shape. Serana just barely recognized it as the College of Winterhold.

"Well, here we are."

Her companion let out a breath, his eyes scanning the pitiful looking hold. He glanced at Serana, gauging her opinion. She stared, confused.

 _Oh that's right._ He's from Skyrim. Even here in Winterhold, he still held pride for his land.

She responded carefully, but truthfully as well. "It didn't look like this before. Something big must of happened while I was… locked away."

"Oh it was definitely big. The Oblivion Crisis gave this place a beating. I guess they never really got around to rebuilding. Or if they did, it didn't stay built."

"The College doesn't seem too damaged."

"There's a few stories behind that too. I'll tell you on the way there tomorrow. For now, lets just get a room."

He nodded his head for her to follow, as he gingerly stepped onto the wooden porch of the inn. He took one last look at Serana before opening the door and stepping inside. A gust of heat hit her, adding to the scorch of the sun. As did the smell of food. _Normal Food_ for them. The room held the same layout as any other inn. It was mainly empty, except for a red headed man in the corner, who seemed far too drunk to notice them, or too drunk to care, and the innkeeper himself along with his wife. The bartender eyed them wearily, a filthy rag in one hand. He didn't seem to like the dagger on Serana's belt, nor the swords on her company's. His distaste changed completely when he dropped a satchel of coin onto the bar.

"Need a bed? We got plenty."

"How much?"

"We don't get much business here, probably 'cus of that damn college, so I'll only charge ten septims." his eyes fluttered between the two of them. "For each of course."

Her partner glanced at her questioningly. She blinked at him in response.

 _Oh_. He wanted to know how many rooms to pay for.  
She stood there awkwardly for a moment, the realization hitting fast. She hadn't really considered a situation like this. She hadn't planned on accompanying him _at all_. Surely he didn't expect anything to happen...

The innkeeper cleared his throat. "So, two-"

"One is fine." Serana looked straight ahead as if it were nothing.

He nodded in response, leading them to a room on the side. She followed, feeling her companion's eyes on her

The room was typical, a chest and wardrobe on one side and a bed on the other. A perfect symbol for the term "You get what you pay for." The innkeeper gave one last glance to the two of them before leaving them alone, and they instantly turned away from one another.

He eyed her inquisitively as he dropped his weapons gently into the chest. "It wouldn't have been any trouble to get another room."

"It's fine. There will be less questions this way." She flicked her hair in front of her face, dropping her own collection of inventory onto the bed. "Just- don't let this go to your head."

She heard a stifled laugh behind her, as if he found it amusing that she would even question his sense of integrity. Choosing to ignore his response, she pushed her items to the side, tossing everything but some bandages to the side, and sat down. She waited for him to look up, and when he finally did, he stared at her, puzzled.

Serana pointed to the bed. "Sit."

He blinked, completely bewildered.

"So I can check your wound."

"Ahh, I almost forgot." He removed his armor, taking his time undoing each strap, then sat down beside her. Serana made sure not to make eye contact, staring at the smear of red across his chest. The wound itself was worse than she thought, but that wasn't the problem.

The smell of blood was unbearable, _Intoxicating_. She took a shaky breath, holding in her instincts. Instincts that she was trained to follow from the very beginning. He noticed Serana's unease instantly. But despite her prediction, he didn't move away. He simply looked down in concern.

"You need to feed, don't you?'

She shook her head. "I can go days without feeding, it's just… with it this close. It's a little unnerving." After the words left her mouth, she knew they were a mistake. "I'm not some- some savage, I have self control-"

"Relax, I trust you enough not to attack me in my sleep." He smirked half jokingly as Serana narrowed her eyes at him. He was either brave, stupid, or insane.

"You understand how idiotic that is, right?'

"What? Attacking someone in their sleep? It's actually quite a good tactic so long as you don't make it bloody-"

"Not that, I meant trusting me."

He tilted his head questioningly as Serana reached for the bandages. "And why is that?"

 _Where to begin_. "Just days ago, you were fighting for the Dawnguard. If they knew you were helping me, helping US? You don't honestly think they'd let you live?

He shrugged, indifferent. "I didn't join the Dawnguard to kill off vampires."

"Then why did you?'

"I like to consider myself an entrepreneur."

"So you joined for the fun of it."

He shook his head. "I have goals I need to accomplish, but I need to be at my best to complete them. A little experience couldn't hurt, so I find work that will prove a challenge." He smiled at her dubious stare. "If you knew what I was up against, you wouldn't be so doubtful."

 _Oh I'm well aware of your goals, Dragonborn._

Serana wrapped the bandages gently across his torso, careful to keep her hands away from the blood. He watched as her hands worked, his eyes focused on something beyond this world. By the time she was finished, he was completely unmindful of everything around him. She cleared her throat, and his eyes instantly focused back on her.

She sat back, finished with her work. "That still doesn't explain why you're helping me."

He smiled, as if the answer was obvious to anyone. "So, I should have left you there to rot? After finding you locked inside a coffin for _years_? That's quite a cruel fate."

She didn't defer her question, suspicious. "And why shouldn't you of? Maybe you have some type of personal gain from helping me?"

"Or maybe I'm just not an asshole."

"Or _maybe_ ," She argued, her voice accusing "You're a spy for the Dawnguard."

He let out a sharp laugh. " _Me_? And I'm suppose to believe you just came along to help?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," He hissed. "That _you're_ the one who can't be trusted. I bet _you're_ a spy for your father! Making sure his new pawn plays along to his little game!"

Serana stood, disgusted.

 _"EXCUSE ME?_ "

 _Who do you think you are? I may be a child of Molag Bal, but I'm far more trustworthy than you humans will ever be._

He followed her movement, standing as well. A small amount of blood had already seeped through his bandages, but he ignored it completely. They glared at one another, spite clear on their faces. They had gone from allies to enemies in mere seconds. Serana was just a few inches from reaching for her dagger when a noise interrupted her.

She stopped as she heard voices behind the wall. An argument. Serana dropped her hand, glancing at the door. Her companion did the same, stalling for just a moment before he inched towards the handle. With deft hands, he slid the door open just a fraction. The voices instantly picked up volume.

"-No idea what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me, you _swine_. We know they were heading here from the Castle!"

Serana stared hard at her partner as he opened the door just a fraction larger. He rolled his eyes dramatically as she backed away from him, shaking her head angrily.

 _Don't get into this, it's not our concern._

He continued poking his head through the door, ignoring her heated glare. She turned away and sat down onto the bed in response. She felt no need to involve herself. The voices rose again, spewing angered words. Serana stayed put on the bed. But even so, her curiosity was piqued, and she found herself stealing glances out the door. Another noise sounded, accompanied with a gasp from her companion. It was all it took to get her on her feet again.

She copied his partner's stance, kneeling beneath his figure to see through the crack as well. It was an awkward position, and she could see little past the bar and the inkeeper. But when she finally caught sight of the intruders, her breath caught.

He had reason to gasp; these men weren't just meager bandits. There were three of them, covered in head to toe in armor. Even after so long, she recognized their origin immediately. The heavy leather garments, the cold gaze under steel helmets, and the crossbows that hung at their sides.

 _Dawnguard_

Serana tensed, already expecting the worst. They knew all about her and the Dragonborn, there was no mistaking that. The innkeeper had to be aware as well; he held his ground against them, but the fear on his face was unmistakable. These men would kill him _and_ his family if they needed to, whatever it took to capture their target.

And in this case, the target was her.

"Serana."

She tilted her head up to see her companion staring from above. His hair fell in his face as he studied her with impatient eyes. His voice was less than a whisper.

"They know we're here."

"I know."

"And they'll tear this place apart to find us."

" _I know._ " She said rather harshly. Her eyes focused back on the innkeeper. He shook in fear as the ringleader produced his hatched from his belt, holding it so it gleamed with the light of the fire. She heard the wife cry out somewhere deeper in the inn, along with the whimper of a child. This was the final straw. If they weren't willing to give up her location, then the Dawnguard would dispose of them. Serana stood.

 _I can't let them kill these people, not because of me!_

With one glance at her partner, she bolted out the door, slamming into the main attacker. They both toppled, his hatchet skidding across the room. While still pinning the man, Lightning bolts ricocheted off her hands and into the remaining attackers. By the time they had registered her assault, her companion was already upon them. His swords flew through the air with both grace and destruction, cutting through their armor like air. As soon as their bodies hit the floor, he reached for his belt, producing her elven dagger. _Her_ elven dagger.

She caught it as soon as it left his hands, but she reacted too slowly. The man she had capsized pushed back, kicking her in the stomach with incredible force. With a shout of pain, she slid across the floor. In seconds, her partner was at her side, blocking the man's view of Serana.

He scoffed at the sight. "So the vampire has gotten herself a Thrall to protect her." He plucked his hatched off the floor. "How typical of you blood suckers, to hide behind the bodies of your minions, like cowards. Your kind are all _MONSTERS_!"

Serana instinctively bared her teeth, but the sound of her anger was swallowed up by her comrade's laugh.

"Do I look like a thrall to you?" He narrowed his eyes, daring the man to take another step. "I'm just trying to help a friend against the savage animals that are attacking her."

"Friend? To a Vampire? You fool, can't you see what they've done to you? You are a _tool_ , meant to be used and discarded. Vampires don't have _friends_ they have _pawns_. And _pawns_ " He sneered, holding his hatched high. "Are as abominable as their masters!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he charged, shrieking with rage. But Serana was done with his game. She lifted her hands, red light illuminating from them. The magic surged outward, striking him with ferocity. She watched as the man slowly fell to his knees, holding his throat as if he were losing air, losing LIFE.

He thudded to the floor, leaving the inn in silence. Serana didn't move, still staring at her hands, where the light was now fading. It looked the same as any other day, but now there was an illusory stain of blood upon them. She jumped as a hand lightly touched her shoulder. She looked up into the same dark eyes as before, watching concern drift through them.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine." She snapped. She shrugged his hand off and stood, taking one last glance at the lives she had destroyed.

 _It was self defense. Self defense._

" _You_! Get away!"

Her focus was instantly pulled away from the dead and towards the living. The innkeeper screeched in horror, his wife and child huddled behind him. His hair was matted with sweat and his eyes still held fear, but not towards the Dawnguard. His dismay was directed at _her_.

"T-They said _your kind_ was walking about, but I didn't believe 'em. I wouldn't them harass my guests either. Told 'em that was fairy tale talk. That _Vampires_ are children's tales. But _you_ ," He breathed. "I saw the fangs, watched you kill 'em with your magic. You drained the life outta him. You really are a monster!"

Serana flinched. "You don't understand, I was only-"

"NO! Get away! Leave me and my family, you abomination!"

"I…"

She stood frozen, her hand moving towards them. The innkeeper jerked away, his hands covering his face in fear. His wife quivered, holding her child for dear life. And the little girl, so young and innocent looking, she simply cried in her mother's arms. Serana stared, empty.

 _They're right, I am an abomination..._

Her companion jumped to her side.

"Hey, we just tried to save your life and this is how you repay us?"

The innkeeper said nothing, just hid himself under the protection of his arms. Her partner scoffed in response, disgusted. Then, he turned to Serana.

"Let's go."

Before walking out the door, he dispensed a large sum of coin onto the bar; payment for all the damage they had caused in the fight. After collecting their things from their room, the fled, and he made sure to slam the door shut as they left. Serana followed his track, numb.

"By the Gods, people can be so unappreciative sometimes. They're lucky that the Dawnguard didn't just gut them right then and there-"

"They're right." Serana interrupted.

"What?"

"They were right," She spoke softly. She felt terrible and confused. "I'm an abomination. I'm a blood sucking fiend. I _drained_ the life out of him. What does that say about me? What does it say about _you?_ How can you even trust me?"

Silence. Serana took it as a sign that she was correct in her assessment. He _Didn't_. She put her head down, guilt ridden and dejected.

"Are you _kidding_ me?"

Her head snapped up instantly at the astonishment in his voice. He stared her down, dumbfounded.

"Serana, _You tried to save their lives_. Do you honestly think not killing them would have made anything better? They would have butchered that family in a seconds notice if we hadn't stopped them."

She stared back, taken back by his change."

"Serana," He spoke calmly. "Even humans can be monsters. I think the Dawnguard has proved that already. Having fangs doesn't make you into who you are. What you did in there, you tried to protect people you didn't even know. Just because you're a Vampire, it doesn't mean you're destined to be evil.

She laughed gently "Tell that to my father… but thanks." She took a deep breath and smiled, for the first time in a long time.

"For what its worth, I don't think you're a spy for the Dawnguard."

He burst into laughter. "Oh? Did you figure that out before or after he called me a _Pawn_?" He stepped off the porch, grinning as Serana rolled her eyes. "To be fair, I never actually thought you were spying for Harkon either. You don't seem to have the most positive relationship."

"You could say that."

She followed his steps, walking through the crisp snow. He glanced at her as he continued down the road.

"Well, whatever's going on between you two, I'm here if things go bad during this 'prophecy' thing."

"Speaking of which," Serana smiled at her friend. "I think it's time to get that Elder Scroll."


	8. Nobility (Brynjolf)

"Oh, Bryant! Always such a gentlemen!"

The woman smiled at the thief, completely oblivious of his motives. She wrapped an arm around his as they walked through the market. Brynjolf grinned back at her, trying his best to look convincing. As they browsed the vendor's wares, he prayed to himself that no one would recognize him.

The job was simple. Invite a noble to Riften. Then rob them blind. It was easy enough, even for a novice thief.

And yet, Brynjolf got stuck with the job.

He scolded at Mercer when he'd given out the commands. Vex was off to Golden Glow estate, Delvin received orders to set up some fences in Solitude. Everyone got a decent job except for Brynjolf. But he hid is dismay behind a charming smile, doing his best to look the part of a noble.

"What do you think of this one?"

The woman held up a necklace made of pure malachite and embedded with tiny, blue sapphires. Not exactly tasteful, but expensive enough. The jewelry stood out with her dress and furs, but not in a good way. It looked ridiculous on her, covering most of her neck and chest, but Brynjolf encouraged her anyways.

"It's beautiful, but it cleary can't compete with you."

She giggled, interrupted by snorts. Brynjolf cringed. He hated to do jobs like these, too up close and personal for his liking. But a noble like this one would be loaded with gold. Which was exactly what the guild needed right now. So instead of being forthright, he smiled again and let her pick through the jewelry.

This time she grabbed from a different stall, another necklace. It was clearly expenive, much more than the other necklace. It was a long, thick chain of gold with large emeralds twinkling in the front. Deffinetly something that would fetch a high price.

As she struggled to wrap the necklace around her, Brynjolf glanced around them. He had taken it upon himself to find clothes fit for a noble. As far as anyone else was concerned, he was just a rich man on a walk with a rich woman. It wasn't the best disguise, but it was enough to keep him hidden. Despite the fake name and the fancy clothing, it was easy to see through the facade. While most people walked by without a glance, a few lingered, staring directly at him. A sure sign that he was attracting too much attention. Even disguised as a noble, people were recognizing his face.

Which ment bye-bye gold for the guild.

The noble woman grunted as she finally got the necklace to click shut. "There, what do you think?"

She twirled in a circle, much more awkward than graceful, letting the necklace fly with her. But Brynjolf didn't bother to compliment her. Instead, he quickly slipped the other necklace into his pocket, careful to avoid the prying eyes of the merchant. He'd delayed long enough. If he wasted any more time, someone would be bound to catch on. He took ahold of the woman's hand

"How about we relax at home?"

She blushed, grinning. "Oh, Bryant. All you had to do was ask."

He choked back both disgust and laughter as she laid a handful of coins onto the stand. He lead her away from the market, as close to the shadows as possible. The woman didn't seem to notice, giggling and twirling her hair.

This was the most tricky part of the job. Getting the goods and ditching the woman at the same time. Easier said than done. What he needed was a distraction.

Brynjolf slowed his pace, trying for more time. He lingered just long enough to study the other citizens in town. There had to be some way to distract the woman long enough to finish the job. And as his eyes fell onto the jewelry merchant, an idea struck.

"Perhaps," he said turning to the woman. "We should get a bottle of wine for the evening?"

She scrunched her brow, then her face lit up in joy. "That sounds like a wonderful idea!"

He grinned, dragging her back over to the market, taking the necklace out of his pocket at the same time. As they reached the stand, he laid a hand on her waist.

"Why don't you pick the swill?"

She smirked at him, turning back to the many bottles that lined the stall. As she turned, Brynjolf slipped the necklace into her pocket, just as his hand left her waist.

After that, all it took was a few words to the jewelry merchant.

He slipped away from her side, inching closer to the vendor. The Argonian looked up and blinked as he approached.

"Can I help you?"

"Maybe," Brynjolf replied, glancing over his shoulder. He could see the woman squinting at the liquid inside the round bottles. "See that noble? I think she stole some of your merchandise."

The Argonian looked past Brynjolf, studying the woman. "She paid for that necklace."

"The one around her neck, not the one in her pocket. " The vendor still didn't act. "Trust me, I know a thief when I see one."

 _I just have to look in a mirror_ , he thought.

This time, the merchant looked down at his jewelry, noticing the missing Malachite necklace. Finally, he gasped.

"You! You are a thief! Guards! Guards!"

The woman turned in surprise, gawking at the lizard-skinned merchant. She looked to Brynjolf in confusion, but it was too late. The guards had heard the shouting. At least three of them made their way into the market, their destination clear. The few people shopping began to panic. And in just moments, all of the town was in chaos.

Before things could get out of control, Brynjolf grabbed the womam by the wrist, the guards were close, their weapons drawn.

"Bryant! Tell them I'm not a thief!" She gasped, her hands reaching out for her necklace. "You saw me pay, tell them!"

Brynjolf smiled. The woman didn't seem to understand, her mouth agape. He pushed her hand away from the necklace, plucking it off of her neck. She yelped out loud.

"Hey! What are you-"

"You paid for _this_ necklace." He replied. "Not this one." He pulled the other necklace out from her pocket. She gasped in response, and watched as Brynjolf pushed both of them into his pocket. Before the woman could speak, he let go of her wrist and ran, leaving her to the guards.

And just like that, the job was complete. The woman would be arrested for theft of property she didn't have, and it would be too late to find the real culprit. Even if she tried to speak the truth, no one would believe the words of a thief. Besides, the guards would be looking for a man by the name of Bryant. Not Brynjolf. Which ment that he was home free, and the guild had two new and very expensive necklaces to sell off. Not too bad considering the guild's luck.

But as he hid beneath the shadows, Brynjolf felt the gaze of an observer upon him. He peered out of the darkness, his eyes resting on a cloaked figure, staring straight into his direction.

Someone had seen the entire crime.

He didn't move, shock taking over his body. For a slight moment, he was starting to doubt if the stranger had actually seen him.

Right until the cloaked observer bolted out of the market, running faster than Brynjolf had moments earlier.

He cursed out loud, sprinting after them. No one would believe the story from the noble woman, but an eye witness would change things. Brynjolf couldn't screw up a mission like this. It would not only make things worse for the guild, but also tarnish his reputation. And it would all be because of this random stranger.

By the time Brynjolf caught up, the sounds of the Market had faded. They had run out of Riften and into the surrounding woods. His assailant was finally out of breath, as was he. The stranger collapsed on the ground, gasping for air. Brynjolf sighed. This game would finally be over.

"Alright lad. Lets just get a few things straightened out."

He stepped closer to the cloaked figure, expecting a plea of mercy.

And instead, was greeted with a large, wooden stick.

The stranger hadn't been gasping for breath. They'd been waiting for Brynjolf to step closer. To grab a chunk of wood and bash his face with it.

Clever. But very painful.

Brynjolf cursed, holding the side of his face, the wetness of blood trickling down his cheek. Just before the stranger ran again, he grabbed at the cloak that was caught in the wind.

The cloak slipped off, revealing not a _lad_ , but a _lass_. A beautiful, lithe elf. She glared at Brynjolf's surprise, then snatched back her cloak. In one swift motion, she casted it back into his face, then grabbed onto a branch of a nearby tree.

Desperate, Brynjolf reached out to grab ahold of her. But he was too slow, and the elf disappeared into the wilderness. The only witness to his crime long gone.


	9. The Witch in the Woods

"No, _your_ mother looks like a Skeever!"

The bandit swung his sword at his companion, missing by nearly a foot. The weight of his attempted blow was enough to make himself lose balance, and he fell into the dirt surrounding them. His friend merely laughed.

"Hah ha! This is why you get stuck with petty contracts like this one!"

The man glared at him, trying hard to stand without dropping his weapon. Not that the sword could actually cut anything, but still. He'd need it later on.

His elven friend, on the other hand, let his bow hang loosely off his back. If he had any concerns about the mission, he certainly didn't show it.

"You know, if your going to strike someone down for insulting your mother, you should make sure not to miss." He offered a hand to him which he grudgingly took.

"If you're such a good shot, then why were you assigned this contract too?"

His friend smirked. "Someone has to watch you. Just in case you topple over a hill or something."

"Ha. Ha. Ha."

They continued their journey in the woods, the moon glowing above. Such a simple contract they had received. To kill an old woman living in a shack in the woods. Hardly exciting.

The real question was why someone would want to kill the old hag anyways? Her style of living made it obvious that it wasn't for coin, and the bandit honestly doubted that someone could hold a grudge against a poor little woman like her.

But it didn't matter. Someone wanted her dead and had offered a very large and plentiful reward to do it. And if there was one thing that motivated bandits to kill, its was coin.

So here they were, tromping through the woods in the middle of the night, searching for an old hobble of a shack that held their contract. Childsplay.

"Wait."

The bandit suddenly stopped walking at the request of his friend. He peered through the thicket of trees and underbrush for any sign of civilization.

There it was, barely noticeable among the earthen colors of the forest. A small shack could be seen. weathered and beaten down by years of abuse, it stood in a small field. Or, perhaps a better word would be wavered, the bandit thought. No doubt the wind could knock the entire thing over with little effort. Vines aligned themselves around the cracks that had formed, and small mushrooms sprouted from them, seeping out of the walls like water. It was quite a site, not necessarily revolting, but certainly... disturbing. This had to be the woman's home, it was as old as she was.

With gentle steps, they crept forward, careful to avoid the brush at their feet. Soft snoring could be heard from within the shack, which was good news for the two of them. It was time to finish the contract.

But instead of entering the wooden home, they stalled at the door. A feeling of dread washed over the bandit. There was no reason to feel nervous, and yet he did. And apparently his Elven friend felt the same. He turned towards him, the playfulness from earlier gone.

"You go first."

"Wait, what? Why do I have to?"

"Because it's your contract!" He nudged him forward. "Besides, you said it yourself, it's just an old hag in a shack. Let's just kill her and get it over with."

The bandit hesitated. He could still hear the soft snore of the woman from inside. With a deep breath, he entered.

She was old and frail, with lines across her face that told stories of another life. Thin blankets laid across her lap, not the best way to keep out the cold. But the woman didn't seem to notice, sleeping soundly and carefree. Oblivious to her fate.

The bandit gripped his sword with with unsure hands. He felt the invisible hands of justice wrap around him, squeezing until guilt poured from his body. The tip of his blade was starting to shake, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to finish the contract. His companion watched, eyeing the helpless victim in the bed.

"I'll do it."

He breathed a sigh of relief, stepping aside for the elf. With somber eyes, he grabbed a dagger from his belt, turning to his friend.

"You look for something to salvage, I'll take care of... this."

The bandit nodded, gazing around the shack for some form of profit. Nothing caught his eye, just old books and rotting food. No surprise.

He glanced over his shoulder at the elf who still hadn't moved. He continued to stare at the woman, most likely wondering the same thing as his friend. Why would anyone want to kill her?

Only then did he notice an indentation in the floor, just next to the bed. A small hatch that most likely led to a basement.

"Hey, I think I found something."

The elf didn't move, and the bandit didn't try and make him. Instead, he crept silently towards the trap door and silently pulled it open. It squealed, but not enough to wake the woman. With a sigh of relief, the bandit grabbed at the ladder leading down.

It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He squinted at his surroundings, hearing the door from above shut behind him. When he could finally see, a gasp escaped him.

The room was small, but held plenty. Shelves lined the walls with bottles of all sorts. Hundreds of shades of red, blue, and green glimmered in the bandits eyes. An alchemy and enchanting table stood in each corner, littered with ingredients and soul gems.

This wasn't just a collection of an old woman. This was a collection of a sorcerer. A very powerful one at the least. One that fed on weary travelers and fools just like him.

A witch.

A scream pierced the bandit's ears, and he jumped at the sound. Fear ran through his veins, recognizing the scream as his friends.

He bolted up the ladder, nearly tripping twice. He could still hear the elf above, his shouts become screeches. With a gasping breath, he pushed against the trap door.

It didn't budge. He felt panic settling in as he continually banged against the exit. It creaked with strain, but did nothing else, trapping the bandit inside. Suffocating him.

And soon, his screams matched that of his friend's. The only two witnesses to the witch in the woods.


	10. Obsession (Calcelmo)

As the Dwemer machinery around him hummed to life, Calcelmo smiled with both pride and glee. All of his research, all of the time spend working, it was finally paying off. His dream of bringing the Dwemer back to their former glory was coming true.

The Dwemer Centurion unfolded itself and stood, reaching an extraordinary height. Calcelmo stared in awe. It had taken him years to piece the machine back together, but it was worth it. Everyone had called him a fool, calling his creation an obsession. Just a month into the project, his nephew was adamant to continue helping him with his work. Even worse, Faleen refused to see him any longer until he scrapped his project.

But Calcelmo couldn't. The Dwemer were his inspiration, his doorway to the past. And there was still so much to learn from his experiments. It pained him that the ones he loved couldn't see how important this was. But it didn't matter anymore, his creation was complete. After so many years of work, he had finally brought a piece of the Dwemer back to life.

For a moment, Calcelmo hesitated to finish his work. It was tearing apart his relationships with everyone he knew. But as he put the final piece in place, he realized it was too late to turn back.

The Centurion towered over him, steam billowing from metal pipes. It was a magnificent piece, a perfect example of Dwemer engineering. Calcelmo stepped forward, his arms open wide.

"Rise, my creation. And recognize your new master."

The Centurion didn't move, and for a moment Calcelmo was doubtful of its condition. But after a short pause, it slowly lifted itself forward. Calcelmo felt a burst of pride, like a parent witnessing its child's first steps. Despite its enormous stature, it took quite a bit of time to walk across the room. Even so, it was a miracle.

But as Calcelmo gazed at his work, he felt numb. This was what he wanted, but he wasn't pleased with his work. To spend so much time on his creation, he expected to feel more... satisfied.

With an aching heart, he walked towards the Centurion. It stopped to face him, it's face immobile. He had spent enough time away from the ones he loved. It was time to end this obsession. With one hand on its shoulder, he reached into the Centurion's chest to pull out the Dynamo Core from its body.

Just as his fingers brushed the core, the Centurion jerked alive. Calcelmo yelped as a mechanical arm slammed him into the wall. He looked into the eyes of his creation, and saw just how far he'd fallen.

And as the light faded and his vision became darkness, he remembered Faleen and his nephew, and how there was so much more to say. His last thought was of them, just before his obsession ended his life.


	11. Leaving the Pack (Vilkas and Farkas)

**_Clunk. Clunk. Clunk._**

 **"** **Farkas. Stop."**

 **Silence. Then, just a few seconds after, it began again.**

 ** _Clunk. Clunk. Clunk._**

 **"** **I said knock it off, you're gonna break it."**

 **Pouting, his brother stared up at Vilkas with sullen eyes. As the sun faded beneath the horizon, the two young pups stood side by side, waiting for the doors of Jorrvaskr to open and welcome them back in.**

 **The Companions had pushed the brothers outside in order to discuss important matters, deeming them too young to listen to such plans. Even though Jergen, their father by choice, had practically raised his children in Jorrvaskr amongst the Companions, they were still young and inexperienced, and even the most skilled wolves in the pack didn't know all the secrets of the guild. Vilkas was cunning; he understood why he and his brother weren't allowed to stay and listen. But it still sparked a flame of anger inside him.**

 **Time drifted slowly, and both brothers only grew more and more impatient. Gripped tightly Farkas' his hand, was a small wooden sword. It was a gift from their father, which was only given so that the two boys would stop touching the** ** _real_** **swords that the actual Companions used. Vilkas glared in agitation as his kin repeatedly slapped the pointed end onto the stone ground. It was the habit of a boy with little patience. And a habit that drove Vilkas insane. He doubted that his father would approve of how his brother's use for the weapon either, considering he made it by hand.**

 **There was no telling for sure if Jergen truly was their father, but neither of them cared. He had plucked the brothers out of the hands of a necromancer, an experience that Vilkas didn't think we would ever forget, and had saved their lives, becoming their hero in the process. Even when he had no reason, no incentive to help them, he took both kids under his wing and brought them back to Jorrvaskr to the Companions. And it was an act that they would never forget.**

 **But that was years ago, and Vilkas had grown and matured from then. He learned to handle a blade, memorized the heroes of history, even crafted his own armor. He was no longer a victim that needed saving, he was a warrior. Which was why it irked him to not stand by his father during the meeting. Lack of experience or no, he refused to be treated as a child.**

 **Farkas on the other hand, seemed only interested in his next meal. When his stomach wasn't grumbling, his mouth was, and Vilkas found it to be exhausting. His mind was more simple, and easily satisfied. He never questioned Jergen's decisions, or anyone else's for that matter. He was happy to live, and didn't feel the need to know every detail like his brother did.**

 **He spoke in his usual blunt and uninterested tone, one that Vilkas had grown accustomed to hearing. "I'm bored."**

 **"** **I know, you've said it a million times. Now be quiet, I want to hear what they're talking about."**

 **"** **But the meeting is taking a long time."**

 **"** **I** ** _know,_** **Farkas. Now shut up."**

 **He silenced himself, much to Vilkas' surprise. Instead of whacking the sword onto the ground, he sat down, resting his head in his hands. Breathing a sigh of relief, Vilkas turned away from his brother to press his face against the door. It was muffled and hard to comprehend, but he could hear soft voices from inside.**

 **"** **-dangerous decision, do we really want to get involved?"**

 **"** **This is our home, you filthy milk-drinker! We've a duty to defend it!"**

 **"** **I'm not suggesting that we abandon our kin, but this is a big decision, and one that can lead to death."**

 **"** **Bah! There are peasants fighting in this war! They need** ** _real_** **warriors! They need** ** _Companions!"_**

 **"** **And what about the guild? Are we to ignore our duties as well?**

 **"** **Of course not. We'll need members to stay behind and deal with the contracts we receive… as well as the children."**

 **"** **Will they be okay with this? Will you?**

 **"** **My sons are strong, they may not understand now, but the will in time."**

 **Vilkas gasped, pressing his ear even harder against the door. But the rest of the conversation was lost in the tumult around him, as Farkas returned to striking the ground with the now nearly blunt and splinted sword. Exasperated, he turned to his brother with venom in his voice.**

 **"** **Farkas, stop! They're talking about** ** _us!_**

 **He plucked the sword out of his brother's hands, which slipped from his own grasp to slide down the stairs of Jorrvaskr. Farkas huffed as they watched it bounce off of each stone step down to the bottom. He blinked once, twice, then turned back to Vilkas.**

 **"** **You threw it, so you have to go get it."**

 **Vilkas shook his head, his scraggly hair sticking on ends. "Forget about the sword, there's something going on in there! Something big! Didn't you hear me?"**

 **He shrugged, uninterested. "They always talk about us. But we talk behind their backs too, so jokes on them."**

 **"** **No, your not getting the point." He prodded his brother in the stomach, "This isn't some stupid game. They were talking about leaving Jorrvaskr, and something about fighting too!"**

 **Farkas blinked. "Leaving? To where?"**

 **Vilkas shook his head. "Dunno…"**

 **They stood in silence for a while, letting the tension sink in. Silently, Farkas took his brother hand. They watched their wooden sword on the ground below, feeling numb.**

 **Without warning, the doors of Jorrvaskr opened, and Jergen stepped out. Blinking in surprise, He quickly recovered and smiled encouragingly at the boys. Vilkas caught a glimpse of some of the other companions, looking somber as they went into the other room. Only the two boys and their father were left.**

 **"** **Well well, look at my two boys! Having fun out here-"**

 **"** **Where are you going?" Vilkas interrupted.**

 **He laughed meekly. "I see nothing gets past you too."**

 **"** **You didn't answer the question." Vilkas felt a wave of desolation slowly surfacing inside his mind. Jergen was avoiding the answer. Which meant bad news. Taking a deep breath, he clasped both kids on the shoulder, suddenly somber.**

 **"** **I don't know what you've heard, but it's time you learned what's going on. Let's go inside."**

 **Vilkas dragged his feet as he made his way inside, as if he could actually slow down time by not walking. Farkas noticed his brothers movements and began to do the same. Jergen shook his head with a slight laugh. Vilkas didn't find it funny in the slightest.**

 **Finally, he stopped and turned. He knelt down to embrace his children, letting out a heavy sigh. The brothers hugged back, confused. Vilkas felt anxious, his heart pausing at the thought of bad news.**

 **"** **I am so, so** ** _proud_** **of my boys. One day you'll be all grown up and leading the pack." He laughed, ruffling the hair on their heads with a steady hand. "You'll make fine Companions." His voice was bitter-sweet, but his face was full of sorrow. Vilkas heard himself sniffle.**

 **"** **Vilkas… Farkas… You both have brought me so much pride. And it pains me to say this. But there's no use in delaying the news… I'm leaving.**

 **There they were, the first tears. Vilkas looked down, vision blurred as droplets fell from his eyes and onto the wooden floors. This was why. Why all the secrecy and the meeting. Their father was leaving. For good. He felt sobs ricochet through his body. Why hadn't they told him sooner?**

 **"** **I know you're young… And I know that war is something that not even grown men fully comprehend. But just know that this is something that I need to do. As a warrior, as a Nord.. and as a father. And one day, when you're older, you'll understand why I left today. I** ** _have_** **to fight. For Skyrim."**

 **"** **No!" Vilkas' tears turned to gushing streams. "No! I won't let you leave! You can't do it!"**

 **With cries of anguish, he swung at his father's chest with shaky fists. Jergen didn't try to stop the blows, just stared down helplessly. Farkas didn't move an inch, eyes casted downwards.**

 **His father's words were quiet but strong. "People are dying, Vilkas. I won't let their deaths be in vain. There are times where we must make hard choices in life, and this is one of them. You know I love you and Farkas more than anything, but this isn't something I can just turn away from. I won't let those damn Thalmor take our home!"**

 **Jergen sighed, standing. But when he reached out to touch Vilkas, he turned away. Scowling through the tears, he pushed through the doors of Jorrvaskr, leaving his father in shock. He ran around the building to the back, slumping down against the stone wall. He had stopped crying, but the pain was still there.**

 **He didn't know what time it was, just that the sun had set and father was long gone. Vilkas didn't feel like going back inside. He didn't want to face the reality that his father was gone, and chances are would never come back. He wanted to collapse.**

 **Suddenly, he felt a hand wrap around his. Looking up, Vilkas sniffled at his brother Farkas. Without talking, he sat down by his side, a small wooden sword in his hand. Vilkas smiled as he dropped it in front of his feet.**

 **"** **I got the sword for you. Even though it was your turn."**

 **"** **I know, Farkas. Thanks."**

 **** **Vilkas sighed, gingerly picking up the sword. The only thing left of his father. Swallowing his grief, he looked towards his brother with a grin, happy to have a brother by his side, no matter how different they were. He handed the sword back to Farkas, who went back to the process of hitting the stone floor repeatedly. And for once, Vilkas found the sound to be soothing.**


	12. Hatred (OC Story)

"This. Is. Ridiculous."

Talayth smacked her head on the bar, mugs clattering on impact. Her head ached from the blow, but she ignored it. Her tattered dress (If you could even call it that) snagged on the wooden planks of the floor, and her raven colored hair was disastrous, falling in her face multiple times. The rag in her hand had become filthy from scrubbing the endlessly dirty mugs, which never stayed clean for long after. And, as usual, there wasn't a single person there to drink, making her efforts seem exceedingly useless.

She was through being the innkeeper for the day. The Cornerclub received little business, so there seemed little point to her job. And yet she worked anyway, in hopes of grabbing what coin she could. Even so, she had become incredibly moody this day, and her bitterness was affecting her friends as well.

Rendar, who was usually working the bar instead of Talayth, was leaning against the wall behind her, picking through their reserves from off the shelf. He studied each bottle of booze with a critical eye, eventually throwing each one aside in apparent dissatisfaction. She eyed him wearily, a bit conflicted by his actions.

 _It's not like we get buisness anyway, so who cares what the wine taste like? I need those bottles to get through the day._

"Hey," She interrupted, "Stop throwing it out. Who gives a damn if the customers don't like our swill? They can get drunk at Candlehearth Hall for all I care."

He scoffed. "I'm not doing it for the _customers_ , I'm doing it for _us_. Just because we live in this filthy hobble doesn't mean we have to drink disgusting ale to match. I refuse to live in such wretched conditions."

She rolled her eyes as he tossed yet another bottle aside. Rendar had always been the more… stubborn of the three of them. Despite living in the slums of Windhelm, underneath the foot of the Nords, Rendar refused to set himself to the standards that they were given as Dunmer. People always assumed that they were unkempt and dirty creatures (which in some cases was quite accurate) but Rendar was prideful of his people, and spent most of his time trying to find ways to prove the Dark Elves better than the Nords. Particularly when it came to his inn, the New Gnisis Cornerclub. He only accepted the best.

Elenil, who was sitting silently in a chair, held different standards. By far the most level-headed of the group, he was never out to taunt the Nords, nor was he trying to prove anything as a Dunmer. Elenil was simply looking for a better way to live, tired of the war for survival in Windhelm. Despite his race, he didn't spite all Nords for who they were, unlike both Rendar and Talayth. He simply envied their freedoms, and hoped for Ulfric to grant them some form of dignity.

They both lived here in the Cornerclub with Talayth. There were other Dunmer amongst them in Windhelm, the Atheron family to be specific. But Aval worked his stall in the market for most of the day. And his other siblings, Faryl and Suvaris, had jobs at a local farm just outside the city, owned by Nords. (Much to Talayth's disgust) She was the newest member of the Dark Elf population. But unlike them, She had a more personal reason for her anger.

She had arrived a few years back, only thirteen years old at the time. Originally from Morrowind, her family had faced the hardships that almost all Dunmer faced. The eruption of the Red Mountain. The entire ordeal had major effects on Morrowind's economy, and soon, their lives began to steadily decline.

Talayth's mother had always stayed home to take care of her daughter; her father spent his days mining for Stalhrim, a difficult choice of work. Stalhrim was simply becoming more and more difficult to find, and as each day passed, her father came home with less and less coin. With no other trade to make a living off of, her parents chose to move their lives away from their home and to a new world. Skyrim.

But it was clear as soon as they had arrived in Windhelm that things were just as bad here. The civil war that plagued the land was completely unheard of to her family, so they were completely caught off guard by the pure hatred they received from the Nords. They were shunned instantly, considered just as revolting as the High Elves.

Just like the rest of the Dunmer, they were pushed into the Grey Quarters, forced to live in squalid conditions and were given as little as possible. But even then, they received no peace from the others. They were continuously harassed by the locals, and taxed on nearly everything they needed. All due to their appearance alone. It was a sad life. But living conditions aside, they were surviving, and that was all that mattered.

Until the tension in Windhelm finally broke.

The outsiders, as the Nords called them, were sick of the abuse. And the pale people of Skyrim were sick of letting them into their home. Riots broke out in the streets. The elves demanded equality; the Nords demanded justice. No one was willing to break, and so everyone began to fight, tearing each other apart without the slightest remorse.

And Talayth's father became just one of the many deaths.

She was too young to know exactly what happened, but her mother described it as a meaningless squabble between him and a Nord citizen. The conversation turned foul, and a sword was pulled. They fought, and her father fell. Becoming yet another victim.

If her mother hadn't traveled outside that day, they would have never found his body. No one gave respect of the dead of the Dunmer. His body had been resting in the snow for days. The white now tinted red. The Nords had killed Talayth's father, then disgraced his body. And it sent fury through her.

But it was more than that. It wasn't just that he had been killed. It was that his death meant nothing. Nothing at all. Even after he perished, the world continued on moving as it always had. No one shedded tears. No one gave a moment of silence. No one gave comfort to the grieving widow and her child. Because no one _cared._ All because he was a Dark Elf.

Whether it was from heartbreak or bad health, Talayth's mother died soon after. But her daughter was almost sixteen now, and she was no longer dependant on others. She lived in the Grey Quarter for the rest of her time, becoming close to Rendar and Elenil as the years passed. But even as time went by, the Dark Elves were still treated the same. They were abused. They were taxed. And they were unwelcome. And soon, her hatred had only boiled even more.

Rendar smacked a bottle down in front of Talayth, snapping her out of thoughts. After a few seconds, she eyed him dully.

"You know, the cheap stuff is just as good."

"Not for my establishment." He snatched the rag from her hands. "And keep the rag clean."

"You run the damn bar then. I doubt we'll get any customers anyways."

That stung. Rendar paused for a moment, then pushed past her to take her place. Taking it as a confirmation, Talayth stepped aside and sat down at the table, Elenil giving her pointed looks as she did. Choosing to ignore them, she plucked her dagger from the table's surface, letting it slip through her at the nails with the tip of her dagger, boredom setting in. But despite her attempts to ignore him, her annoyance got the better of her.

" _Do you mind_?" She snapped, stabbing her dagger into the table. It wavered from the force, ending in silence. Elenil simply shook his head wearily.

"You're in a bad mood."

"No shit."

"But _why_ are you?"

"None of your damn business."

Her voice was harsh, but she didn't mean it. Her anger wasn't directed towards Elenil. Nor was it Rendar. But she couldn't contain her spitefulness. She had spent enough time holding in her hatred. She felt bitter. Disgruntled. For what reason she didn't know. But she was angry, and resentful, and everything in between. Whatever it was about this day, it brought out the worst in Talayth.

 _Damn Nords._

"I'm getting some fresh air…" She murmured, not waiting for a response.

Grabbing her dagger on the way, (It's always nice to have protection) she stepped outside, a burst of frosted air spreading across her skin. As the door closed behind her, she inhaled, the frigid wind giving life to her dormant body. Soft, delicate flakes fell from above, leaving her hair spotted white. The sun hung high above, engulfed in the grey billow of clouds that covered the sky, concealing what little blue was visible. It was a winter-like Eden. Despite her hatred for her home, she couldn't help but admire its raw beauty.

 _Wait… What's going on?_

Voices echoed throughout the corridors, ending with a fearful scream and multiple shouts of anger. Talayth stiffened, her eyes straining to see past the weather and towards the sound.

 _What the hell is happening?_

Hesitantly, she followed the source of the sound, treading lightly through the snow. The voices became louder, the apprehension clear in each word. As she reached the main gates of Windhelm, she finally caught sight of the mass. A small group had formed, local Nords surrounding a pitiful looking girl. A Dark Elf. And the tension in the air was lucid. She was being harassed.

"You come here where you're not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks."

It was a Nordic man, crude and mocking, with a crass smile. Talayth recognized his grotesque features immediately. Rolff Stone-Fist. the local Idiot. He often pranced around the Grey Quarters in the early morning, letting her and the others hear his unwanted opinion. He was a drunk, a sleaze, and the biggest ass Talayth had ever met. And better yet, he simply adored Dark Elves.

The woman he had addressed looked insulted, but didn't attack Rolff back. Talayth was almost positive that she was Sulvari.

She put her hands up in a pleaded defense. "But we haven't taken a side because it's not our fight."

Another man spoke up, a beggar. "Hey, maybe the reason these grey-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!"

"Imperial spies? You can't be serious!"

"Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, _little spy._ " Rolff smiled at the girl. "We got ways of finding out what you really are."

He moved towards her, and in that instant, Talayth decided to interrupt.

"Don't you _dare_ touch her!"

Her voice shook with anger, but she did her best to hold it steady. She bounded across the little space in between them, and planted herself in front of the girl. Her eyes skimmed down the Nords with disgust. She wouldn't leave her Kin like this.

"Well, whadaya know," Rolff narrowed his eyes. "There's another one. They must live in a pack. Like _rats._ "

"Piss off, Nord." Talayth hissed the words.

"You don't have the right to tell me to leave. This is our city. And your kind has defiled it!"

"It wasn't very grand to begin with. Not surprising considering how barbaric and repulsive you Nords are."

That hit the mark. Rolff's face contorted in rage, his mocking smile now gone.

"You know what, grey-skin? I've had enough of you and your people!"

And suddenly, the world came crashing down. Sulvari screamed behind Talayth as Rolff charged, his fists raised. She didn't have time to think, she just reacted. Her hand had instinctively reached for her knife, and before she knew it, the blade sank deep into the flesh of the Nord. His attack stopped in that instant, and silence filled the air. Blood dripped gently off the blade as his body slid to the stone ground. His mouth opened for just a slight moment, then shut, his eyes foggy and unfocused.

She killed him. She had killed a man with her own hands.

Talayth despised Nords. But she would never kill out of hatred. She was raised better than that. But even so, she had let her blade part through his skin and end his life in mere seconds. She was a monster.

Both Sulvari and the beggar covered their mouths, shocked to the core. Talayth was too shaken to explain herself, and she simply fell to her knees, the dagger slipping from her fingertips. After what seemed like forever, the beggar broke the silence.

"M-Murderer! You heartless fiend! Guards! Guards!"

"But I-I was defending myself! You saw me!"

But the beggar didn't listen, running towards the palace in a spur of panic and fear. Talayth could only stare past him. She flinched as a hand fell on her shoulder, ready to fight off the guards that pulled at her. But it was only Sulvari, looking pale. She didn't try to hide her fear.

"Please. I thank you for what you did for me, but you can't stay here. They won't let you live after killing one of their own. You need to leave."

"What? No! No, I won't leave! This is my _home!_ "

"If you stay, you'll die. You need to leave this city, anywhere is better than here."

"I can't, it's suicide. I don't have food, or coin, or anything!"

"It's still safer out there than here. "She lifted the dagger from off the ground, placing it in Talayth's hands. "There's no time to argue about this, go!"

The sound of footsteps drew nearer, and Talayth, with no other options, stood and ran. She didn't stop when she heard shouting behind her. She burst through the front gates and into the open, leaving everything she had left in exchange for her life. Tears began to form around the rims of her eyes, but she wiped them away and ran harder. She wouldn't fall apart. Not now.

She didn't know how far she ran, but the sounds of the city disappeared after a while, and her body began to slow. Even so, she forced herself forward with the little strength she had left. But even then, she couldn't last long. She tripped, her face landing in the cold snow. Glancing behind her, she struggled to get her bearings, but she could feel herself breaking. Her attempts to stand became a pitiful crawl, and she finally let the tears slip down her face. Eventually, she let herself fall, and she curled up in the show, shivering.

This was it. Her pathetic life played out in front of her. Did the Gods really hate her people that much? Could they have truly given her such ill fortune?

She didn't know. She couldn't even think about it, for her body was slowly becoming numb and her mind had gone silent. She didn't bother to think about the past, nor the future. Because neither one mattered at this point. She was alone, and dying.

With a chilling breath, she tried one last time to stand. Only for her legs to give out, and her vision to fade to black as she collapsed into the snow.


	13. Feeble Dreams

The sky was painted black, the strokes of ash and dust leaving a smear on what was once blue. Flames crackled, unheard over the screams of the damned. Children and women ran to cover, as the men held their swords against impossible odds. The smell of burnt flesh was unavoidable, along with the never-ending rivers of blood. So much death. So much destruction.

All of it caused by one Dragon.

Just as the worst seemed to be over, a winged silhouette etched itself into the sky. Following it, was a sound like no other.

As the words were thrust out of the mouth of the beast, a force of unimaginable fury cascaded down upon the town of Whiterun. Both fire and fury rained down onto what was left of the world, leaving death in its absence.

As the last building caught fire, the Dragon landed with a quake, its wings flaring with both grace and beauty. But despite its magnificence, there was no mistaking the abomination's fiendish nature. A monster of pure evil.

And while the fires raged and the withering screams of its victims continued, only one word was imprinted into their minds.

Alduin

Olava cried out, waking from her slumber. Her hair was wild and tangled, and she felt her tears soaking through the pillow. Even with the morning light coming through the window, she still felt as if she were surrounded in darkness. She sighed, trying to escape the nightmare.

This was no mere dream. Olava knew it was a vision. A vision of what was yet to come. Fate would not be in her favor on that day, nor in anyone else's.

But they never listen. She told the Jarl of her vision, and received a laugh and a push out the door. The old hag had simply gone senial.

But Olava knew better, even if they refused to see the truth laid in front of them. So instead, she turned to the townsfolk. Only to be shunned once again.

It was excruciatingly frustrating, to try and help only to be ignored. They didn't understand the danger that awaited. The bloodshed that would bring the world to its knees.

Olava had to warn them. Even of they refused to listen.

She pulled her hair back and gathered her clothes, being careful not injure herself and her brittle bones.

She turned to her kitchen and stopped abruptly. She glanced at the window in confusion. It was pitch black, the moon barely visible among the clouds.

Olava scrunched her brows in confusion. There was light just moments ago. Was that just another part of the dream?

Doubtful, she opened the front door, instantly becoming warm. The sun was blinding, and she felt tears returning as she shaded her eyes as best as she could. Despite fixing her impaired vision, it did nothing to stop the heat that stirred around her.

Olava gasped. Heat? In Skyrim? Why was the sun so hot? She screamed, realizing too late what was in front of her.

Fire.

It roared with ferocity, crackling as it tore at her with burning claws. The sound of screams echoed, the flames engulfing all of Whiterun. Olava included. She was trapped in, with no way of escaping.

As the fire enclosed her, she glanced up. The flames had destroyed the roof, revealing the moon. A shadow danced across it, and a pair of wings flashed by. Olava knew instantly what it was.

Just before the last of the roof collapsed upon her, she gazed into the eyes of a dragon, her nightmare becoming a reality.


	14. Hatred (PART 2)

Nothing. No movement at all.

Endric studied the woman with curiosity as she slept restlessly in his bed. Her face was speckled with blood and her raven hair was littered with snowflakes. He didn't often see Dark Elves roaming around Skyrim, but she didn't look like a foreigner. She wore a tattered dress with puffy white sleeves that fell off her shoulders, and a corset with straps overlaying it. Typical for a tavern girl he supposed. She was covered in dirt as well, with matted hair down to her waist, with her face rested on the pillow, pale and constricted. She was clearly in pain or suffering, but from what he didn't know.

If Endric had to guess, she was a farmer, or perhaps a peasant. But what she was doing out in the snow was a mystery. He didn't make a habit of plucking strangers off the ground in throwing them into his bed, but he just didn't feel right leaving her there to freeze. Unfortunately, the girl was exhausted. He had sat by her side patiently for hours, but her eyes remained closed. He couldn't sit and wait forever.

Dropping his sword onto the floor and unstrapping the majority of his armor, Endric returned to the bar, ordering a drink with the flick of his hand. Kjeld, the innkeeper and one of the few occupants of Kynesgrove, lazily filled a tankard and slid it down the bar. Eyeing the cup, he sniffed the content wearily.

 _Stale mead. Disgusting._

He drank anyways, grimacing as he downed what had to be the foulest content in all of Skyrim. Kjeld scratched his beard, blatantly staring down his room where the young woman slept. He hadn't been exactly pleased to see Endric carrying her through the door of his inn, but he let the girl sleep, so long as he paid for the extra day in the room.

Pulling a dirty rag from his belt, he wiped the bar with sluggish movements. "That girl still asleep?"

"Mhm."

"Where'd you say you found 'er again?"

Endric pushed his mug away, now empty. "I was on my way to Winterhold to browse the market. Needed some supplies for the road. Found her on the way there, just lying in the snow. Looks like she collapsed."

"Well I don't know why you brought her here, because she can't stay without coin. As soon as she opens her eyes, she leaves."

Endric narrowed his eyes. "You're just going to toss her out? Because she doesn't have a few septims? What if all that blood was caused by an attack? She could be hurt."

"And she could be _dead_." Kjeld shook his head, refilling his tankard generously. "Look, we're both Nords, so I'll explain. I ain't got nothing against that elf in there, but times are hard. And my wife and I can't spare anything, even for her. We have to look out for our own kin."

"So you won't help her?"

"You're the one who brought her here. And I didn't say that." He leaned over the bar, peering into his room. "I'd hate to see someone die in my own establishment, so i'll give her a few necessities. But from then on she's on her own. _If_ she wakes."

He grabbed Endric's empty cup and turned the other way, becoming preoccupied with other things. Endric took it as a sign to end the conversation, leaving the bar and heading back to his room. If the woman really did have an injury, he shouldn't move her around.

 _Guess I'll be sleeping on the floor tonight._

But as he opened the door and approached the bed, he stopped. The bed was empty, the blanket pulled back showing that it's inhabitant had crawled out of it. Endric blinked, shocked to see the Dark Elf missing.

"What? Where did she-"

Before he realized she was even there, pain slammed into the back of his head. Shouting in pain, Endric fell to his knees, his hands holding his new bruise. As a string of curse words left his lips, he turned, his eyes resting on his assailant.

The woman was definitely awake, her crimson red eyes glaring down at Endric with both hatred and fear, a large and heavy book held high in her hands. Knocking him on the back of the head was clearly not an accident.

"Why the hell did you hit me? I helped-"

But he couldn't finish his sentence; the elf swung again, aiming for his jaw. He had just enough time to jump back before she went for another blow. But this time, Endric caught the book, and grabbed her wrist in the process. He smiled, eyeing the girl humorously.

 _Got you._

The book dropped from her hand, pages splaying around the room. Just when he was convinced he'd won, she twisted her arm, breaking free of his hold. He raised his arms in defense, ready for another assault with the book, but instead she went for something else.

 _Damn it!_

Endric cursed as she grabbed his sword from beside the bed, pointing it right at his neck. She snarled at him, ready it kill if it was necessary. With no other choice, he raised his hands above his head.

"Hey, hey, there's no need for that! Please, just put my sword down."

She only raised it higher, tilting her chin up with hatred burning in her eyes. He didn't understand why she had become so hostile, and at this point he didn't care. He only wanted for her to drop the weapon and explain her story.

"I'm not going to try anything, so will you just please just put it down?"

Neither one of them moved, eyeing each other suspiciously. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she slowly lowered his sword, watching Endric the entire time with narrowed eyes. He breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to see she was somewhat reasonable.

"HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME, PLEASE!"

 _Or not._

Are you kidding me? This girl is ruthless!

The door to his room was slammed open by Kjeld, alarmed and ready to fight. He glared at Endric, then gawked at the girl in surprise. Apparently he hadn't heard the prior commotion when Endric was in need of help. But he jumped to his feet to protect the elf.

"What? What's going on?"

"Kjeld, wait! She's-"

It was too late, and the girl bolted out the door, and out of the inn. Both Endric and Kjeld stared blankly, neither of them understanding.

"She woke up?"

"Oh yeah, she's awake. She tried to beat the living hell out of me with a book."

"Don't be so harsh, she was scared."

Endric glared at the innkeeper. He couldn't disagree less.

"Kjeld, did you see her? She wasn't scared, she was trying to _kill_ me." He jabbed his thumb in her direction. "That girl's got fire burning in her eyes, she doesn't want our help. She ran as soon as she had the chance!"

He sighed wearily. "Well it's too late now. She's probably long gone." With an irritated huff, Kjeld made his way back to the bar. "If all this business with the Dark Elf is over with, I'd like to run my inn again. Unless you plan to stay another night?"

Endric shook his head, his eyes still on the door where she had fled. "No, I'll take my leave now. I need to get to Riften as soon as possible."

He produced a small satchel of coin, twice the pay of the room, and tossed it into Kjeld's waiting hands. Retrieving his things from his room, Endric made his way towards his horse, loading his things into the saddle bags. The business with the Dark Elf was done and over with; he had no reason to stay and dawdle. If she wanted to run off into the wilds, then that was her decision. Endric had his own work to do.

With his things packed, and his debt paid, he was ready to leave. With a snap of his reins, the horse reared and began its track towards Riften, leaving the inn behind. But even after he galloped away from Kynesgrove, Endric still kept his eyes open for a Dark Elf through the snow.


	15. Lydia

_YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME._

The Bosmer pulled his bow back, ready to knock the draugr to its knees, aiming with precise accuracy he had honed over the past few weeks. With a steady hand and a clear gaze, he could take anything down with his pristine arrows. He almost never missed.

Except for one situation.

Lydia walked into his shot.

He had been grateful for a housecarl. She was pretty, loyal and strong, someone he wouldn't mind as company during his adventures. He now changed his mind, and after watching her run into yet ANOTHER arrow of his, he was ready to abandon her by the side of the road as soon as possible. She was a disaster.  
 _By the eight, I might as well use her as a meatshield..._

Rolling to avoid a blunt smack of an old Nordic sword, the Bosmer took numerous steps back, giving distance to him and Lydia. Lydia seemed oblivious to it all, even after earning a stab wound in the chest. She continued slashing at the undead, clearly not feeling the two arrows that protruded from her back. It was almost impressive.

The battle was tiring, but close to finished. After a few more bodies added to the pile, all that was left was a Deathlord. The Bosmer stood by his companion's side, eyeing their enemy as he sauntered closer. He carried himself out of the room farthest front them, his rigid frame making his walk abnormal and eerie. Armor encased his body, and he spoke words that couldn't be comprehended. It was terrifying. But even so, they could take him together. He looked at Lydia.

"Ready? Go!" They both ran.

"Skyrim belongs to the Nords!"

He stopped.

" _Excuse me?_ Did you really just-"

The Bosmer stood there and blinked. The _Bosmer._

You. Wench.

Lydia didn't seem to notice the blatantly offensive comment, just continued running at the Deathlord full speed ahead. He didn't bother to correct her, just stared with fully intended dismay. Watching her swing her blade and miss, he faintly wondered if perhaps if he were born a Nord, his housecarl would fight better. She swung again and hit the wall, making him doubt the thought.  
Ready to get it done and over with, the Bosmer joined the fray, his bow still waiting in his hands. Drawing it again, he breathed, and waited for Lydia to block his shot.

This time she didn't, and the arrow pierced under the helmet at the Draugr's rotted face, stumbling back from the blow. Before he could recover, Lydia brought her blade down on his crippled frame, the light fading from the hollow sockets of his eyes. It was over. The Bosmer sighed happily.  
Lydia wasn't too bad after all. At least she contributed.  
After the usual routine of looting bodies, grabbing a small bite to eat, retrieving arrows, and cleaning the gunk from their weapons, they were finally ready to leave. But before they stepped out of the crypt, a shine of light caught the Bosmer's eyes. Back in the room where the Deathlord had revealed itself from, was a chest.

He ran for it. Sweet, beautiful loot! He wondered what could be hidden inside; weapons and armor, soul gems, potions, GOLD. he wanted to hit himself for almost walking out without checking.  
He was so close, but before he could reach the room, Lydia happened.

She walked into the door frame.

It was all over from there.

No matter which way he moved, she got into the way. He went left, she went left. He went right, she went right. Desperate, he tried to push her out of the way, failing completely. Then, he tried backing up to give her room to move. She didn't.

With no other options, the Bosmer chose to do something a little more dangerous.

Taking a breath, he shouted at Lydia, the blast knocking her out of the doorway and back into the room. She was out of the doorway.

Amazingly enough, she was able to pick herself back up, grunting and glaring at her companion. But the Bosmer wasn't focused on her anymore. He ran towards the chest, fiddling with the lock for just a moment before opening the lid.

There was an empty soul gem, a wooden sword, and three septims. Nothing else.

Disappointed, he turned away, ready to get out of the Crypt.  
Lydia was back in the door way. Trapping him inside the room.

 _I'm going to die in here._


	16. Hatred (PART 3)

"You stupid Nord..."

Talayth hissed the words, watching from behind a few barrels as he sped off on his horse. Who the hell did he think he was, plucking strangers out of the snow and putting them in his _bed._ How revolting. She didn't know why the stranger had picked her up, and frankly she didn't care. He was probably a bandit, looking for coin on her corpse. Or maybe he intended to hold her for ransom. Or perhaps he was a murderer.

She stopped. A murderer, just like her. Talayth touched her face lightly, feeling dried blood caked on her skin. It wasn't the blood of an innocent, but it still felt just as sinful. Her father would have been so ashamed...

She crouched behind the barrels for just a bit longer, listening to the sound of hooves on stone fade away. Wincing as she stood, Talayth slowly approached the porch of the inn, tripping on the bottom step and nearly falling onto her back. Pulling her tattered dress in frustration, she shielded her eyes from the early morning sun and gazed at the sign before her.

 _Braidwood Inn. Never heard of it._

The air was still crisp, but snow wasn't falling. The ground was strangly clear as well; she could actually see plants. The inn was a clearly a good distance away from Windhelm, but it didn't fill her with safety. She was a wanted criminal. Who's to say they wouldn't send someone after her? She couldn't just sit and dawdle, she needed to get out of Skyrim.

Talayth shivered, standing idly on the porch of the inn. Even out of Windhelm, it was still freezing outside. And a tavern dress did nothing to fight off the bite of the cold. Perhaps she could slip into the inn for awhile. All warm and cozy, stocked with plenty of food and even better than that- mead. Did the innkeeper see her face?

 _You idiot they dragged you in there while you were unconscious, of course he saw your face. You made a big scene in his inn just moments ago. Why would he help you?_

It was fine. She had endured worse. A little bad weather wouldn't slow her down. She would be just fine on her own. She didn't need help from the stupid Nord...

Talayth went inside anyway.

The gust of heat that hit her was pleasant; she had almost smiled before her eyes landed on the gruff innkeeper. She hadn't really paid attention to him when she had ran away from her assailant. Frankly he wasn't a pretty sight. Tan skin that sagged from age, and a long, stringy blonde-grey hair with a matching mustache. All of that was topped off with a layer of dirt and grime covering his body. What a very ugly Nord.

And the way he was staring at Talayth, he must have thought the same of her. Her dress was filthy and blood was caked all over. And after running a hand through her hair, she was convinced she looked worse than even she knew.

She approached the bar slowly, wondering whether or not coming inside was a good idea. The man was wiping a mug with a dirty rag, a painful reminder of the life she used to have. He didn't seem to be focused on her work, staring Talayth down with something she couldn't comprehend. It certainly wasn't relief.

"It's you."

She stiffened instantly. "What's that suppose to mean?"

He blinked as if he didn't understand a thing. "It means you're the elf that ran out of my inn screaming." The man slid the tankard aside lazily. "You leave somethin' behind?"

 _So he doesn't know what I've done. Maybe news hasn't traveled._

"No," she replied. "I just wanted to ask about that man. The one who brought me here."

"Endric. A strange fellow, but kind enough. Said he found you layin' in the snow in the middle of nowhere. Didn't feel right just leavin' you there."

"Oh."

 _Liar. To hell with all of you. No Nord would go out of their way for a Dark Elf._

The innkeeper threw his rag down, leaning his elbows onto the bar. Exhaustion was set deep into his eyes. Talayth wondered just how much trouble her arrival had caused. If he knew why she had ran, things would be even worse. She may not have liked Nords, but her father raised her to be kind to others, even enemies. He wouldn't approve of how she had been living her life.

"Look here, you don't have a septim to your name, and I don't have coin to spare-"

Talayth snorted at his words. "As If I want pity from you, _Nord_."

"- _but_ I'm willing to give you some necessities free of charge."

She blinked, taken back. " _What?"_

The innkeeper seemed almost agitated to explain, his cheeks puffy and pink. "The last thing I need is stories to spread about how someone _died_ in my establishment. I ain't going to send you out there with nothing but a dress to your name. You can have some food on the house. And my wife might have some clothes to fit."

"I... Thank you."

 _...Damn. I feel guilty._

She wanted to shout in his face. Tear that filthy rag from his hands and beat him with it. But guilt won over, and instead she mumbled a brief thank you and sat down at the farthest table. As she waited for the Innkeeper to collect her new things, wife made her presence known. An older woman with dark hair and lined skin. She eyed Talayth with curiosity, but not hatred. Talayth refused to look up. She took the food from her hands graciously; bread and cabbage stew. It was only after she had wolfed down most of the food that she realized how famished her body was. She never had food like this back in the Grey Quarters...

What had she done to earn this? Murdered a man, and earned food and comfort in exchange. The price of committing a crime it seemed.

She didn't regret it, killing that man. Not in the slightest. Thinking back, she remembered how she was convinced that her father would be disappointed. But if he'd known the situation, perhaps he would feel different. He was a heartless fiend, a damnation. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that if they events had replayed before her, she would have used the dagger again. She was a criminal, but a justified one. He deserved to die.

And she deserved to live. Screw Nord law. She had struggled enough, and she wasn't bowing down now. She'd make her life work, even if it meant leaving her home for good.

 _No. That's stupid to think. Who is to say they won't go past Windhelm?_

It was a chance. She was lucky enough that the Innkeeper didn't know her mistake yet. But not everyone would so dimwitted. She was _covered in blood_ for crying out loud. Someone would make the assumption. Someone would know it was her.  
"Here are your clothes."

Talayth practically flipped out of her chair at the voice in her ear. She hissed at the Innkeeper's wife, before looking away in embarrassment as she handed her the fresh pair of dresses, much nicer than the original. A soft blue with white lining, and a light brown with stitches around the seams. She had a feeling that the set was worth more than anything she owned. She hated showing kindness.

She received a small satchel of food as well, to which she had to force herself not to gawk at. And after a one last gracious gift of a heavy fur cloak and a few Septims, they pushed her towards the door. They might have been supportive, but they still wanted her the hell out of their inn.  
Swinging her hair out of the way, she took a step before stopping. The innkeeper looked about anxiously, as if they were ready for her to turn rabid. But instead, she asked for one last favor.

"I had a dagger with me before I came here, but I lost it. I don't suppose you have one that I could borrow for a moment?"

He blanched and stepped away with fear, but the wife shook it off and reached in to reveal a knife from her dress pocket. She took it and stepped back into the chilly air, before stopping to explain.

"I just need one minute."

She didn't stop to see if they were watching. Leaning over the side of the porch, she took the dagger to her neck-

And all of her hair, long and flowing, was cut by the knife. She shredded what she could, leaving her bangs for comfort. Bundling it in her hands, she tossed it into the wind, black strands splayed across the sky.

Talayth had cut her hair for convenience. But also for change. Anything to keep her from looking like who she used to be. It wasn't as if her mother would be caressing her hair anymore.

She handed the dagger back after plucking a few strands from the blade. The innkeeper stared, but didn't question, wrapping his fingers around both the dagger and her hand.

"Keep it."

She stared, but nodded. "Thank you."

"Head to Riften." He nodded in the direction. "It's close. And whatever you're running from, maybe it won't chase you there. Just watch the thieves."

She didn't respond. Just hoped they could see how thankful she was. As thankful as she could ever be for a Nord. She didn't know how to show appreciation for something like this...

It was time to go. She slung the satchel over her back, tentatively touched her now short hair, and stepped back into the outside world. Talayth sighed.

 _Time to go to Riften_


	17. Queen of Anguish

The world fades in and out of her vision, colors of vibrancy and beauty swirling among her own blinded thoughts. With each breath comes a loss control and consciousness, every sip of the bottle leaving a bitter sweet taste on her lips in which she suffocates. And yet she drinks anyway.

"K'iera, please. You'll only hurt yourself more."

"Go away Farkas."

"Is this really the life you want to live? Don't be stupid."

His words did nothing to stem the addiction. Her rigid frame was pressed against the decayed wall, fumes pouring throughout each room, bottles strewn about her bed of straw. They framed her figure, like a throne of pity and despair. And she was the Queen of Anguish. The Master of Impulse. The Perfect Mistake.

Skooma was her only comfort.

His hands shook, but Farkas did as she commanded, a loyal subject to the end. Even as he moved away from the door, she refused to meet his eyes, maneuvering her hand around her hobble of a castle to find yet another bottle of Skooma to fight the pain. This was her kingdom. Here, surrounded in the fumes of her only friend, she was safe.

Time loses meaning, and she too meant nothing. Under the clouds of forgetful dreams, no one could see who she was. Her regret no longer pulled at her mind with harsh reality. Here, there was no K'iera. There was only the Queen. And the Queen regretted nothing.

Claws tearing into flesh, blood staining the trees, the gaze of their eyes as death left them still and lifeless. She didn't want to remember anymore. And Skooma gave her release. The ability to forget.

But it wasn't enough.

The daze of color only lasted so long, and when the pleasant dreams faded, she was left again with the neverending grief. She lost control of her kingdom.  
But she couldn't take it. Couldn't stand even the slightest flicker of memory. She didn't want to be K'eira. She wanted to be Queen. Forever.

And as another bottle touched her lips, she finally got her desire. The clouds suffocated the last of her fears and memories, her mind reaching peace as it faded into eternal sleep. Never again would she have to regret. Never again would she feel the agony and despair. Never again would she hurt. She had become forever happy in her kingdom.

And like the loyal subjects they were, no one came back to discover their queen's body.


	18. Duty and Sacrifice

When we have lost everything, including hope, life becomes a disgrace, and death a duty. She had seen her country fall to the Thalmor. She had watched her people lose hope, torn from their own religion. She had witnessed the end of true living, and she knew that death could be the only answer to their disgrace. What words could be more fitting for the fall of the Empire and their reign.

She gazed across Skyrim from her perch upon the mountain, the lashing of wind and snow flaying her platinum curls from under her hood, the burden of her sword almost overtaking her balance. With grey skies and a faded horizon, her eyes followed the trail of fire that burned steadily down the slopes; the trail of torches that brightened in the hands of warriors as they trudged through snow. She did nothing but breathe in the chilled air, calming the flames within.

The marching had begun; Whiterun would soon fall.

Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best; it removes all that is base. All men are afraid in battle, but duty is the essence of manhood. The coward is the one who lets his fear overcome his sense of duty. The brave man inattentive to his duty, is worth little more to his country than the coward who deserts in the hour of danger. When the men are silent, it is a soldier's duty to raise their voices in behalf of their ideals. And as she stood upon the mountain, she had never known better of what her duty was. Duty, Honor, Country. Those three hallowed words reverently dictate what she should be, what she can be, and what she was. And she owed it to a single man.

He stood at the head of his soldiers, like a beacon of hope to their land. And he was, for he was Ulfric Stormcloak himself, defender of faith and freedom. No man had been so drawn to duty as he had. When Skyrim fell like a broken bird, it was he who plucked the feathers from the earth and healed wings so they could yet again sore. It was he, the so called usurper of the throne, who gave hope to a falling nation. And it was he that brought peace to the faded souls of their brethren when they broke into riots in the streets, their very religion stripped from their souls. He did not just speak holy words; he acted upon them, bringing justice to his people with a raised sword. Ulfric was the true king. An honorable man... as well as her paramour.

She stood silently by his side, banners waving furiously in the chilled air as the soldiers marched in honored unison. They spoke of nothing, but his eyes caught hers for a fleeting moment, giving her all she needed to bring herself to continue. Love always involves responsibility, and love always involves sacrifice. It involves a strong connection, and a stronger commitment. They had both. Not in the way of lovers... but in the way of soldiers.

The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war. They above all others see their duty clearly, and follow with determined steps till their blades weep blood in honor of their home. No soldier knew this better than she and he.

And yet, even now as they marched side by side, she'd never speak such words to his face. Nor would she ever expect to hear the same from him. It was a silent agreement, a greater calling. Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts. And there was too much love for their country to accept the love of each other.

But she would love in her own way. Taking her sword in both hands, she stood her ground, her will stronger than the steel that bonded her sword. She would not comfort with whispered words and soft touch, but with blazing fury and a burning will. She would show her commitment by being committed to his cause, fighting the greater fight. She would love him by loving Skyrim, and letting the fire within her consume her fears.

And at the sound of the horn, the battle began.

Swords clashed and torches fell, lighting straw roofs and wooden barns as though the sun had lit the earth. Down came the fury of the Stormcloaks upon the unsuspecting victims of Whiterun, shouts of anger and anguish following their slumped forms as the tumbled to the the ground. They fought, till blood caked their blade and ash clung to their faces, giving no rest to the enemy. It was their duty to fight, even if it meant death.

But shallow wounds gave way to quick deaths, and men began to fall as their swords fell from their stained hands. For in the end, there is no victor to war, only an end result. Countless Nords would fall for their beliefs, and countless more after them. Even Ulfric himself.

His own blade was strong, like the will of a thousand warriors. He struck blows with precision, leaving trails of blood as in his wake. With a voice as powerful as a breaking mountain, he shouted the language of the Dragons from his mouth, leaving catastrophic ruins before him. He was invincible, he was the beacon of hope to them all.

But he was also a man, as vulnerable as the soldiers who served under him. And her eyes caught glimpse of his death that spiraled towards him in his oblivious state. An Imperial soldier with his sword just inches away from his heart.

Every soldier must know, before he goes into battle, how the little battle he is to fight fits into the larger picture, and how the success of his fighting will influence the battle as a whole. And she understood. She understood that love could not prosper without freedom. She understood that sacrifices must be taken. She understood that she was given an opportunity... And she understood that duty came before all...

And before the blade could sink into her flesh, she understood that protecting Ulfric was her duty. That, as the beating of her heart sputtered with agony, she had paid the ultimate sacrifice of love. A life for a life, one meant to serve and the other meant to live. Ulfric would live to see an end to his war, for she made it her duty for her lover to survive. A sacrifice for duty, as it was the job of a soldier to know their battle... And to know when it's necessary to die.


End file.
